


Crushes on Ice

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, Alternate Universe - Skating, Competition-Set Fic, Crushes, Gen, Gratuitously American Characters, I'm Bad At Titles, Ice Skating, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nervousness, Olympics, Pining, Teasing, pairs skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 21:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: On or off the ice, it's difficult to keep one's eyes off the slender, graceful man with shining blond hair and the brightest blue eyes Wedge has ever seen. ...yeah, Wedge may have a crush.





	Crushes on Ice

The Olympic stadium is bigger than any Wedge has been in before, the stands so full of people, different colors and patterns of flags waving everywhere. At the lowest level surrounding the rink, the country boxes holding fellow competitors. His eyes snag on the familiar faces in his own box. He has to do well here. In the team event, if he screws up and gets a low score, he's letting them all down.

“Wedge, hey, look at me.”

He blinks and looks down at Mirax. His partner has him skewered with a determined look as she takes his hands and squeezes. “Stop thinking so much,” she tells him, dark eyes intense yet warm at the same time. “We've practiced for this. We _made it_. All we have to do now is skate like we have been all season.”

Wedge nods and swallows. He's always envied Mirax her impenetrable calm. Pre-competition anxiety has plagued him since he was child, and nothing he's ever done has helped much. He'll be fine once he gets on the ice, he tells himself. Once he's in the flow of the program, everything else goes away.

“I'm all right,” he manages aloud.

“Yeah?” Mirax squeezes his hands again and gives him that bright smile that never fails to make him feel better. “We got this, Wedge.”

He smiles and squeezes back. “We got this.”

The speakers posted around the arena boom to life with their announcement: “Our next competitors in the pairs skating short program event, from the United States of America: Wedge Antilles and Mirax Terrik Horn.”

Wedge draws in a shaky breath and slips off his skate guards, taking Mirax's hand again as they step onto the ice together. Stepping onto Olympic ice, he thinks again, wonder at the fact. They're Olympians. Whatever happens now, they'll always have that much.

The ice is smooth under his blades as they move to the center of the rink, letting go of each other to each do a slow circle before coming back together and taking their starting positions, facing each other, Wedge's right hand on Mirax's waist, their opposite arms stretched toward the ceiling palm to palm. He breaths, in and out, twice, three times, then their music starts.

It's a fast, energizing instrumental from Mirax's favorite movie, and it inhabits Wedge immediately, taking holds of his limbs just the way months and months of practice are supposed to. He and Mirax dance and spin across the ice effortlessly, and he can't keep the grin from his face as he hears the thrilled reactions of the crowd.

Then it's time to set up for the most difficult part of the program, the quad twist. Wedge turns backward, his hands on Mirax's waist as they work together to launch her into the air. As she moves, arms tucked close to her chest, legs together, doing the four required rotations, Wedge turns forward again, positioning himself for the catch – and feels his left skate skid. It's only a little, not enough to be a real danger, but it makes his heart leap into his throat, puts him just a split-second out of where he should be. Mirax comes down, and instead of the effortless catch and setting her back on the ice, Wedge's hands fumble, clutching at her sides to keep her from getting hurt, and she collides with his chest. She manages to stay upright, though it's a fight, and he gets her back on her feet, both of them shaky for too-long seconds before they're moving on to the next element.

Wedge hears the crowd's gasps echoing in his ears, and he knows his face is red. That fumble is going to cost them in their score, but now he has to put it behind him, not let it effect the rest of the program. Figure skating is a mental game, and if he lets it, this will eat away at him and make him screw up the next element, have him off-balance enough to _really_ take a bite out of their numbers. It wouldn't be the first time.

The rest of the program is a blur, though Wedge thinks he does okay. Not wonderful, not up to their normal standards, but not awful. He stumbles again as the music fades and they strike their ending pose, scrambling to right himself. Mirax is giving him that subtle look the cameras and commentators won't be able to read that means _hold it together_ , and Wedge answers with a tight smile as they clasp hands and bow to the audience and finally, blessedly, head back for the boards.

Their coach, Booster Terrik, Mirax's father, is waiting for them with a somewhat strained look on his face, and Wedge ducks his head. As he pulls his skate guards back on, one big hands lands on his shoulder, Booster pulling Mirax into a hug with the other. “A respectable performance,” he tells them, because Booster is always tough but fair.

Wedge nods silently as the three of them walk to the kiss-and-cry, doing his best to put on a smile for the cameras that follow them. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs to Mirax as soon as they've sat down. “Are you all right?”

She squeezes his hand. “Of course. You're the one who got landed on.”

“I'm fine.” Wedge squeezes his eyes closed for a second, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Of all the times to screw up!”

Mirax shakes her head. “We still didn't do too badly, Wedge. We can always make up ground in the free. We're good at that.”

“Yeah, if they don't decide to switch us out for one of the other teams after that stunt...”

“You obviously didn't do it on purpose,” Booster tells him mildly, “so stop beating yourself up. These things happen. It's unfortunate it had to happen now, but it happened. If the powers that be decide to swap out the two of you, so be it. There's still the individual competition; that's where you really need to shine.”

Wedge can't argue with any of that, and anyway, the judges are starting to announce their scores. He clutches Mirax's hand, throat going tight with anxiety as he listens.

Mirax gives a delighted little cry when she hears the final number, and Wedge has to smile too, a wash of relief going through him. They took a hit, of course, but the score isn't as low as it could have been. They're in fourth place with a handful of pairs left to skate.

He glances over, and Booster is nodding approvingly. “Good job, team,” their coach murmurs.

As the cameras turn back to the ice for the next pair, Wedge again feels relief, but not for long. They'll have to go through the mix zone, the area where interviews wait to speak with skaters coming off the ice, to get back to the stands.

That, too, isn't as bad as he fears, though. Mirax does most of the talking to the people who pull them aside, speaking enthusiastically about the parts of the program that had gone well and brushing off the more critical questions about Wedge's missteps with a smile or a joke. Wedge himself manages a self-deprecating smile as he explains what had happened to him.

Then they're free. Mirax kisses Wedge on the cheek and slips off to find her husband in the audience. Wedge slides into the United States team box. It's late, and there are only a few people still there – Wes Janson, a singles skater who trains at the same rink as Wedge and Mirax, and ice dance team Tycho Celchu and Winter Retrac.

“Great job, Wedge!” Wes exclaims with a grin as soon as he's sat down, poking him in the shoulder. “At least you didn't fall on your ass in front of the entire world.”

Wedge glares at him, but there's no heat in it. If Wes was ever serious about anything, it would be a far worse sign than what Wedge had done on the ice tonight.

Hands land on Wedge's shoulders, warm through the thin material of his costume, and he looks back to see Tycho leaning over him. “It _is_ called the team event for a reason. We all work together, and if one of us isn't exactly perfect – like no one would expect you to be – the rest come to their rescue.” Tycho smiles, blue eyes bright with it, and Wedge is grateful he's still flushed from exertion; it means his reaction to that smile won't show through.

“Thanks,” he manages in response, and Tycho pats his shoulder before withdrawing and turning his gaze back to the ice. Wedge takes a breath, notices Wes wiggling an eyebrow at him, and looks determinedly at the current competitors himself, trying not to focus on the presence behind him.

He doesn't knew Tycho Celchu well. He's seen him around, sure, at various competitions and training camps, but they haven't spent a significant amount of time together. Hardly any, really. Wedge has watched him though. On or off the ice, it's difficult to keep one's eyes off the slender, graceful man with shining blond hair and the brightest blue eyes Wedge has ever seen.

...yeah, Wedge may have a crush. Well, no, not a crush, that makes him sound like a lovesick teenager. More like a very mature attraction to another very attractive man. One that he hasn't done anything about. One that Mirax (and now, apparently, Wes) has definitely noticed and given him crap for on multiple occasions. Only the most gentle, encouraging kind of crap, of course.

But there's no point to it, is there? They live and train in different parts of the country. Even if something happened, it would be hard. Long-distance. And Wedge doesn't even know if Tycho is single. There's his skating partner, Winter, for one thing. Wedge knows the folly of assuming such a relationship is also romantic, of course. He and Mirax have been dealing with those questions since their first season together - even after she got married, much to the chagrin of all three of them.

But still. Winter and Tycho are clearly close. The romantic programs they do always have audiences breathless, and they have chemistry off the ice too. Wedge may or may not have read, watched, and listened to as much coverage of them as he can get his hands on. No, he is not a stalker.

They've been asked about it, and they always laugh and gently deny it, but don't most? It's not like it would be fun to have that sort of thing open to the skating world at large for all the commentators and fans to pick over. Not that Wedge has ever experienced it, but he thinks he understands.

So he doesn't know. So he hasn't made a move. As much as part of him wants to. As much as-

“Hello, Earth to Wedge.”

“Huh?” He blinks, sees that the ice is empty, turns to Wes, who's looking back at him, clearly amused.

“You were thinking about something awfully hard there, buddy.”

Wedge doesn't answer the unspoken question, instead looking up at the standings board and smiling. “Look at that. Sixth place. Not all bad.”

“No, not all bad.” Wes snorts. “Now if you would just stop _mooning_ -”

Wedge's eyes go wide as he jerks his hands at Wes in a gesture of silence, but the man only chuckles.

“You were too busy with said mooning to notice our lovely boxmates left after the last skaters. Their short is in the morning, you know.”

“I know.” Wedge fully plans to be there cheering them on.

Wes rolls his eyes. “Of course you know. But you didn't know when Tycho said goodbye to you in particular. You must not have heard.”

“ _What?_ ”

Wes laughs aloud at that, and Wedge's cheeks are flaming, but he's up and out of his seat without thinking. He reaches the hall behind the boxes and looks left and right. The space is full of both athletes and fans leaving the building now that the night's events are over, but he doesn't spot the familiar face.

“Wedge, hey!” It's Winter, just having come out of a nearby bathroom. “I was hoping I'd catch you before you left.”

“What?” Wedge looks around again, but her partner doesn't appear to be with her.

“Tycho went back to the hotel already,” she explains, because apparently he's that obvious. Then her sweet smile goes a bit devious. “He's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“What?” Wedge asks again, stomach clenching.

“You know that fact that you like him is super obvious, right? No, don't be embarrassed. I think it's cute. You should talk to him. I've sounded him out for you – I think he'd be interested. How great a first date would it be, a beautiful city far from home in the middle of the Olympics. It's so romantic.”

Wedge's mouth works for several moments, and the words that finally come out are, “The gossip reporters would have a field day.”

Winter giggles. “And so what if they do? You guys deserve to be happy with parts of your life that aren't just skating. Do you want me to ask him for you?”

“Would it be silly and childish if I did?” Wedge asks.

“Nope. I'm afraid if I don't help you out, you two are just going to keep staring at each other when the other isn't looking at every competition until we all retire.”

“He– Tycho does that, too?” Wedge repeats breathlessly, too caught up with the idea to even attempt a denial in his own defense.

“Not as much as you do to him, but he definitely watches you more than anyone else.”

Wedge's heart races. It doesn't mean– it doesn't _necessarily_ mean–

Winter lays a hand on his arm. “Hey. Just give me your number, and I'll pass it on to him, okay?”

“Okay.”

Wedge does, and when she's done taking it down into her own phone, she smiles up at him again. “Okay. So I'll talk to him and let you know what happens. I really am rooting for you guys. You'd make a very lovely couple.”

“Thanks, I think.” Wedge is blushing again.

“I should head back myself, though. It's late. I'll see you around?”

“I'll be in your audience in the morning. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I'll see you in the morning then.” She turns to walk away.

“And, Winter?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Winter grins. “Thank me at your wedding reception.”


End file.
